


Yellow

by baeberiibungh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Colours, Cuddles, Kissing, M/M, Slight Dissociation, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6779074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeberiibungh/pseuds/baeberiibungh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You would think Stiles would go for red…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow

Stiles opens the door to his house and steps in. It is cooler inside. It also feels mauve. Not just cool, but cold. The sheriff is out so Stiles is home alone. In a little bit, the colours will change again, pockets of green and yellow and shifting strings of blue lightening pushing that sickly pale violet hue away. If absence has a colour, it is that.

Understanding feels like the clarity of transparent white, while confusion feels like coloured scribbles done in squeaky chalk on mess tinted floors. Homework gets done by floating within these two. The days the white permeates more, Stiles feels good, intelligent. Accomplished at having learned something correctly and new.

He puts his books away in his bookbag and takes it to his room to sling it on the back of his chair. Stiles changes his clothes into more comfy clothes and a more threadbare tee, and feels light summery green of fresh spring spread around him. As good as he had gotten over the years at bypassing his anxiety (a sickly sickly pus like brown and yellow contortion of shades), setting in at his home always leaves him feeling better.

Of course there is nothing stopping a monster to come strolling into Beacon Hills and Stiles would have to run as best as he can to keep up with his friends in saving his town from destruction and control. But he had gotten better at ignoring parts of his life that is not happening at the moment, hence his lessening panic about what his father will do when he finds out and less guilt over having to lie to his father to keep his face. It is not a good tactic, this synthetic disassociation, valid as a reasonable thing to do less and less. Things sometimes no longer feel real to Stiles anymore. The colours now look like a haze of muddled sweeps of different tones that leave him confused about his own feelings and emotions.

Dinner is slow seared chicken with vegetables and massed potatoes and a light gravy. His father has an evening shift and will have his dinner much late. Stiles eats his portion, the air tinged with melancholy and old memories. It is one of his mother’s recipes and he still remembers entwining around her legs while she cooked, looking about everything near him bursting in colours of comprehension and wonder. His mother certainly had that effect on him, making things stranger and more beautiful than they actually were.

His vision seems tinged with blue bruises just at the edge of the horizon. He is tired. It had been a long day of tests and a through beating a few days ago and a long lacrosse practice tomorrow to contemplate and his body hurts and hid mind feels like it is warbling even when he is silent.

Stiles gets into his bed, crawling over it a few inches so that he can face plant on his pillow with precision. The window is open and maybe Derek will drop by later, or maybe he won’t. It’s not like they have an established schedule or anything. Some days Stiles will wake up without anything to indicate that Derek had been in his room. Sometimes there would be a small token of affection or appreciation on his table and the print of a head on the pillow near him and some days, leaving him feeling both happy – red and green and yellow and these teeny dots of pink, and sad – a muskier blue, brownish yellow and pin pricks of black, Derek would be sleeping beside him, hands slung over his waist, his face usually smooshed into Stiles’ neck, his breath fluttering the skin there.

The pack knew, of course, the pack knew. There are only so many excuses even Stiles could come up with as to why he absolutely _stunk_ of Derek. Derek had muttered ‘We are together’ with his darkest frown as if daring anyone to ask for particulars while Stiles nodded his head in agreement. They hadn’t talked or anything, but hearing Derek articulate the status of their ‘relationship’ as vague as it had been, was still something that made Stiles feel good. Things felt amazingly crispy green that day, with nary a black bolt through them.

Stiles gets his first kiss from Derek three weeks after that. It is hesitant, light and shimmery golden. Stiles kisses right back and Derek makes a sound like a whimper and the colours dazzle. They go from there. Kisses soon turn to hour long making out, which leads to groping and then more. Stiles takes it in his stride. Derek fights his instinctive guilt at every step and each time Derek looses the stern lines of hid back, eases into the affections that Stiles is loath to not show, red swirls out of the air and cover Derek in protective spirals, waylaid by pulsating waves of more green and yellow with small overlapping petals of orange. 

There are layers of colour that Stiles feels for Derek. Red for the passion and the fire and the rage that sometimes subsumes them against all that they fight. The green is always in different shades, like a tree with leaves in different stages, always enveloping him in contentment. The yellow are blight flashes and happy instances and laughter that rings out true and loud. The blue of dismay and despair and designs, of plans going well and bad, or hugs foreshadowing possible pain. The purple of pain and bruises and loneliness and hurt. The pink of awareness, of shock, of jolting realization. The grey for those desaturated days, full of depressive thought and the possibility of loss of a loved ones. And through it all strums this golden light of delight at having each other, at having found each other and the love they share.

The window makes a small creak and then a line of heat is pressing into Stiles’ side as he lays on the bed. Unbidden, a smile blooms of his face. Bright yellow like the sun and crackling with tendrils of ozone green. Lips graze his neck, a hand comes over his waist to hold onto him and Stiles feels himself about to fall asleep. He places a quick kiss to Derek’s hand and shifts back into his hold more firmly. He feels content and happy and the colours agree.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not entirely sure how accurate this had been, so please excuse me for the inaccuracies. Unbetaed. thank you for reading. Kudos and comments please!


End file.
